They did not see him again, in fact, at that time.  He had reasons of his own for preferring to remain unseen.  The truth was that the nearer his approach to his native shores, the nastier, he was perfectly conscious, his temper became, and he did not wish to expose himself by any incident which might cause him stupidly and obviously to lose it.

The maid, Louise, however, recognised him among her companions in the third-class carriage in which she travelled to town.  To her mind, whose opinions were regulated by neatly arranged standards, he looked morose and shabbily dressed.  Some of the other second-cabin passengers had made themselves quite smart in various, not too distinguished ways.  He had not changed his dress at all, and the large valise upon the luggage rack was worn and battered as if with long and rough usage.  The woman wondered a little if he would address her, and inquire after the health of her mistress.  But, being an astute creature, she only wondered this for an instant, the next she realised that, for one reason or another, it was clear that he was not of the tribe of second-rate persons who pursue an accidental acquaintance with their superiors in fortune, through sociable interchange with their footmen or maids.

When the train slackened its speed at the platform of the station, he got up, reaching down his valise and leaving the carriage, strode to the nearest hansom cab, waving the porter aside.

“Charing Cross,” he called out to the driver, jumped in, and was rattled away.

. . . . .

During the years which had passed since Rosalie Vanderpoel first came to London as Lady Anstruthers, numbers of huge luxurious hotels had grown up, principally, as it seemed, that Americans should swarm into them and live at an expense which reminded them of their native land.  Such establishments would never have been built for English people, whose habit it is merely to “stop” at hotels, not to live in them.  The tendency of the American is to live in his hotel, even though his intention may be only to remain in it two days.  He is accustomed to doing himself extremely well in proportion to his resources, whether they be great or small, and the comforts, as also the luxuries, he allows himself and his domestic appendages are in a proportion much higher in its relation to these resources than it would be were he English, French, German, or Italians.  As a consequence, he expects, when he goes forth, whether holiday-making or on business, that his hostelry shall surround him, either with holiday luxuries and gaiety, or with such lavishness of comfort as shall alleviate the wear and tear of business cares and fatigues.  The rich man demands something almost as good as he has left at home, the man of moderate means something much better.  Certain persons given to regarding public wants and desires as foundations for the fortune of business schemes having discovered this, the enormous